In A Moment
by Iarejedi
Summary: Martin's POV while Thomas is dying.


A/N: Hello! Yet another lil idea that struck me later. The Patriot movie has left a profound impact on me after I watched it again. I really love that movie. This idea struck me while I was in church believe it or not. How odd. This lil ficlet however is not about Colonel Tavington. This fic is about Ben Martin. It takes place during his first encounter with Tavington right after the Colonel shoots Thomas. These are his thoughts while his son is dying. I hope you enjoy this because I was practically in tears while I wrote this. So of course don't forget to review. :) And of course I do not own the Patriot or any rights to it. I keep forgetting to put disclaimers on my stories. Now on to the story.

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               "Thomas!" Martin cried, rushing toward his son.

            He caught his son from behind, catching Thomas before he fell to the ground. His son's body was rigid with pain and the blood was draining from his face. His eyes held a horrified look of disbelief that the young and innocent hold when burned for the first time. They realize they are not as invincible as they thought they were and that the world is not always a beautiful place to live in. To see this look on Thomas' face…

            It all had happened so fast. Yet, to him it felt like hours. He was confused by it all. He could hardly believe this was happening. Yet, here lay his son dying in his arms from a gunshot wound to his right lung. This could not be happening, could it? Wasn't it only a few moments ago, Thomas was running about helping the soldiers and acting just as impulsive and lively as ever? Maybe this was just some terrible nightmare, and he would wake up any second to find all his children safe in their beds. His family would still be whole and unthreatened. 

            But he knew it was not a nightmare. He couldn't make this go away by waking up because he was awake. He stared down at his son's wound and felt sick inside. Reality came back to strike a heavy blow in his face. The wound was fatal. No, this was no nightmare. This was real, so real. He could feel his son's heaving chest and rasping breaths, trying desperately to stay alive. He could feel the warm, sticky blood leaking from the wound. His son's blood. He could smell the gun powder's acrid stench. His son was dying. He knew it, yet refused to accept it. His mind was numb with shock, as he clutched his son to his chest. 

            He looked up, bright blue eyes wide in horror and incredulity. There, not more than a few feet from him astride his well bred horse, was the man who had done this to his son. He stared at the cold face twisted in a cruel sneer directed down at him. He tried desperately to search for any sign of emotion in those icy eyes, but found none. This man, in his gold buttoned, red and green British uniform, seemed unaware that he was tearing Martin's peace and joy from him in one evil blow. This man dared to come to his home and destroy everything he held dear. The Colonel just stared back at him, cool and collected, not caring in the least that he had just doomed Martin's eldest son to be hanged and then handed Thomas his death as well.

            He was no man. He was pure evil. He was a monster in the disguise of a man, like a wolf in sheep's skins. Men did not kill another without feeling any afterward remorse and so little feeling. Even the murderers felt something for what they had done afterward. He had once thought that. Once believed that even the murderers had some good in them somewhere. This man had just proven that belief wrong. No man should be able to show such contempt and disgust while watching his fellow man watch his son die in his arms. Did this man have any feeling in that black heart of his? No man could be this brutal, could he?

               "Stupid boy," the Colonel sneered. His words like a sword piercing into Martin's heart.  He gave Martin one last spiteful smirk before turning his horse and riding away. Even his own men seemed taken aback by their Colonel's actions. 

            It was then that Martin hated that man, hated him with every fiber of his being. Colonel Tavington of the Green Dragoons, he would remember that officer. He would lock that face and name away in his mind until they met again. He would kill that man. He would make him pay for what he had done to his family. Anger and rage swept through him in a tidal wave of emotion, threatening to overwhelm him.

             He felt his son cough harshly in his arms, desperately struggling to take in enough oxygen, bringing him back from his dark thoughts to the certainty once more glaring him in the face. He gazed down into the face of his son, who was staring up at him with beseeching eyes. He reached up and caressed his son's deathly pale cheek. 

               _Lord, why!?_

            Pain, fear, and shock were clearly visible in his son's eyes and face. Thomas knew he was dying, and he was terrified. He had gone so pale that his skin seemed nearly white. His body shuddered in agony in Martin's arms. Martin wanted so badly to comfort him, to tell him everything would be alright. He wanted to tell Thomas not to be afraid, but he was too. His voice would not work. He could not speak. He did not want to lose his son. Not now, not ever. Thomas had barely begun to live yet. He had seen so little of the world. He was only now starting to mature into the man he would someday become. He was to young to die. He could not die. Not like this. 

               "Thomas!" Martin gasped a note of pleading in his voice. He could feel his son's life slipping away, like sand in the wind.

               _Please God do not let him die! Please!_

Thomas' breath was coming shorter and shallower every second. Martin clutched his son tighter to him, unable to say anything else, unable to plead for Thomas not to leave him. Thomas was not supposed to die yet. He kept praying for Thomas not to let go. Maybe he would pull through still, but Martin knew he was fooling himself. It was not fair to do that to himself or Thomas. Thomas swallowed hard, grasping at his father's sleeve as though holding onto something solid and familiar would prevent him from falling into the darkness that was reaching out to take him away.

            Martin could feel his son's heart beat slowing beneath his hands. One gasping breath, and then another shuddering one. Thomas blinked a few times, wondering why everything was going black and why he could no longer hear anything. Slowing, his vision darkened and he watched his father's face growing dimmer and farther away. One more throb of his heart and then darkness seized him. He was gone. 

            He was dead.

               _No!_ Martin's mine screamed, as he gaped down in anguish at his son's dead body lying limply in his arms. _No! He's not dead! Please no!_

            He tried to convince himself that Thomas wasn't dead. It was hard to convince his mind when everything around told him he was wrong. He could no longer feel Thomas' heart beating or his chest heaving to breathe. His son's skin was going cold and gray.  What frightened him the most was the sparkle of light that had always lighted Thomas' blue eyes had left. His eyes had gone dim and saw no more. The life was gone from them.

               "Thomas," Martin choked out.

            He was oblivious to the rest of his family gathering around him and their own faces mirroring his emotions of anguish, fear, horror, rage, and so many more to numerous to describe. He was trying forlornly to not lose self-control and begin to sob. He could not for the sake if his family. He needed to look strong for them. He felt anything but strong when on the inside it felt his world was falling apart. He could not stop the shaking that had taken over his body as he tried not to break down. 

            He looked up, his eyes clouded with to many feelings screaming to be realized. He glared with rage and hatred at the back of the retreating Colonel in the distance. Oh, how he would make that evil monster pay for what he had done. He would get his vengeance, maybe not now, but soon. He would make that son of a bitch rue the day he had ever been born. He would make him die slow and painfully, make him suffer as much as he was now. He would make those pale icy blue eyes go wide in terror when he saw his doom staring him in the face, handed to him by a farmer he thought was nothing. His doom's day would meet up with him very soon. Martin would make sure of that. 

**Finis!!!**

P.S.

Don't forget to review! ;)


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